


Southern Pride, Northern Romance

by selim_nagisokrov



Category: Original Work
Genre: Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selim_nagisokrov/pseuds/selim_nagisokrov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Virginia, 1863 – Grey was a camp follower from Georgia, Matthew a journalist turned soldier from New York. Neither knew a world outside their own could exist until they meet each other. Battles, they learn, can take place off the battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any similarities to any real people, places, or events are purely coincidental.

Lieutenant Jackson Baker looked like he had just stepped out of a Greek statue. He had curly brown hair and a porcelain face hidden behind manly face hair and a bellowing laugh. He was charismatic and excitable, smart and witty. He was the epitome of everything I wanted to be when I was of age and I bet it showed by the way I worshipped the ground he walked on.

“I wanna go to college, like ‘im.” I would explain to my mother when she warned me not to bother ole Baker. He had enough to worry about without some messed up brat following at his heels. He didn’t need a puppy in these conditions – out in the wilderness, fifteen miles from Richmond, Virginia. The war had carried us between the Carolinas and now to Virginia for a grand showdown against those Yanks. Like the rest of the wives and children of these soldiers, we trailed behind the camps, nursing the wounded and feeding the lively.

“You don’t have a lick of sense. No college gonna want a boy who can’t read. Now bring some stew to daddy.” She handed me a tin cup with the bland rabbit stew made from the hare we had found along the path. “Don’t let any of ‘em boys see ya now, that’s daddy’s.” She gave me a push with a shake of her head, whispering under her breath about her dreamer boy.

With her back turned, I stuck out my tongue and moved along the fields, hoping to get a glimpse of Baker as he made his rounds through the camp, checking his numbers. I straightened my back when I saw him, standing near the back camps talking with a small black messenger. He noticed me immediately and gave a pleasant wave, letting me know it was all right to step forward. I did so without an extra jump to my step, trying not to stand between him and the boy.

“How’s your father, Crawford?” Baker asked. His South Carolina accent shined through filled with prestige and power. A child of a plantation family, he was a lawyer by trade. The taste of war brought him to the ranks, as an officer. He was everything I dreamt about at night, from the clean brown hair on his head down to his dark leather boots. He certainly looked the image of wealth in comparison to me or the black messenger, both dressed in similar rags that had been mended with other fabrics to be durable. Both of our bared toes curled into unfamiliar dirt, bathed in such filth that they looked almost identical. 

I pushed my raggedly blond hair out of my face, unable to look him in the eye. “He’s fine. Figure the bullet just grazed him if he’s able to gamble wit’ the boys.” I brought the tin cup to my chest, tracing the rusty handle. His eyes always made me so nervous. Is this what college did to us southern boys? Or is it just him? 

“That’s good. I won’t keep you.” He nodded towards me, then the black boy, and disappeared back into camp. I gave the boy a dirty look before turning to find my father, keeping my back straight and eyes forward.

My mother calls me such a liar. I think I’m something I’m not. I like to pretend to be one of those southern landowners, the big guy in camp. I don’t want people to know that I’m no better than a slave. Where we come from, we lost our land to the plantation owner. He had such resent against my dad that he moved the slaves into our home and we were forced into the old slave yards. We worked with them, we were seen in the community as a slave.

It was a law in Spalding County to ‘Treat ‘em Crawford’s like them Negros’. When the Master of the plantation offered land to anyone willing to fight the war on his behalf, we took the chance. Even with all the blood shed going on around us, I love it out here. No one knows about the Crawford’s. All the other people from Spalding County are either dead, wounded, or lost. We’re no different from the next guy and finally above the blacks in class. I hope this war never ends if it means I can always live like this.

Pushing through the crowds of followers and soldiers, I finally find my dad, sitting on an old crate with a card game going on in front of him. Pushing his cup towards him, I scrutinize his leg. “Mama made it sound like you’d been mauled by a bear.”

“Yer mama thinks a mosquito bite requires amputation.” Dad throws down a card. “Heard you was talkin’ with Baker.” 

“He wanted to know how you was doin’.” I shrugged my shoulders, settling on my knees to watch. Dad had won a pair of socks so far, which is great because mom has asked for more material to mend winter clothes. 

“I don’t want you talkin’ with ‘im,” mumbled dad. “Stay away from ‘im, boy.” He gives me the eye that used to work – when I was three. He forgets that I’m fifteen now, practically a man.

His buddy laughs deeply while still puffing on his cigarette. “You best listen to your pa, boy. Men be talkin’ ‘bout you and ole Baker.” 

“Talkin’? About what?” I shifted around, making myself comfortable. Dad has a lousy hand but his companion has a worse one. I think dad has the same gambling problem grandpa did, the reason we lost our land to the landowner. When one of our trinkets – a pocket watch that belonged to my mother’s father – lands on the table, I want to push the table over just to end this match. Dad should know a pair of socks isn’t worth the only thing we have of value.

“Don’t you mind.” Dad narrows his eyes. 

His friend curses, calling that he’s out. I give a deep sigh of relief as dad hands me the socks with some mirth. I grab mom’s locket to be on the safe side, ignoring the look dad gives me. 

As I’m leaving, his friend grabs hold of my arm, pulling me back. “Some thinkin’ you fancy the company of yer fellow man.”

I raise a brow. “What’s wrong with talkin’ to men?”

He breaks out laughing. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong until you lay with a man! That’s the sin!” I raise a brow, still confused. Why would I lay with Lieutenant Baker? His cot wouldn’t hold the both of us. I figure it’s one of those jokes that non-church going men like to talk about so I nod my head as if I understand. The man ruffles my hair, pleased that I ‘understand’ what’s he’s getting at. Excused from the scene, I leave with a simple glance over my shoulder at the two men. I don’t know why they act as if something’s wrong with Baker; he’s a nice educated guy.

Why do people like my father harass people who are simply better off than us?

“Grey!”

Baker. I smile wide as he calls me over again. He’s at his tent, holding it open. Without further prompt, I speed towards his tent, eager to talk with him some more. He lets me in first before shutting the flap behind him. I’ve been in here a few times, on errands for other campers. It’s small and orderly, with an actual table in the corner with maps, paper, pens, and uniforms. His bed is neatly made and pressed and he has a lamp next to it. Beside that is a simple book. I’ve always wanted to ask him to teach me to read but I take my mom’s words to heart, he’s far too busy to help someone like me. 

“Find your father okay?”

“Yes, sir.” I tucked my arms behind me, watching him with excitement. He pulls off his jacket, tossing it over the chair before sitting on the cot. He directs me to sit across from him in the chair. I nervously do so. “Can I help you with somethin’, sir?” I tilt my head to the side. His smile seems to grow.

“I was hoping you could.” He nods heavily. “You see, we’re moving out – past Richmond. Morale’s low but I was hoping you could fix that for me.” He clasps his own hands, still watching me under long lashes. “I’m sure you’ve heard that the Union has been pushing our troops back. Command wants troops to come up and around Richmond, away from the Union troops as an ambush. He wants _us_ to follow suit.”

I tense. Morale has been low recently. We’ve had to flee the last two battles, we haven’t had a really good meal in a while, and people are getting sick. But… “What can I do to help?”

“Well,” Baker starts slowly, “I need you to tell the troops a small white lie.”

My eyes widen. I don’t want to be the reason we’re going into a really bad situation. If we walk into a trap people would blame _me_ and we’d never be anything more than field workers. We’d never get the land the old master promised. “I…don’t know.”

Baker gets to his feet, reaching for my hands. My fingers feel so small in his big, calloused hands. My face reddens. “Please, Grey. This will work. We’ll go around the capital area, and take them from behind. They’ll never expect it. Pennsylvania – that’s where this war will be decided. We will take it. I just need you to tell the troops that it’s been successful so far. That we have troops up there.”

“Do we?” My voice breaks.

“We’ll be the first, we’ll lead the ways. We’ll be heroes. That land you want will be yours; people will be excited to hear about the Crawford’s. It’s what you’ve always wanted.” He remembered. He’s the only person I told about my dreams about getting my mother out of that shack. I want those people that harassed us to grovel at our feet. I just don’t know if I feel okay leading people, especially my father and mother, into a dangerous situation. “Please, Grey? It would make me so happy if you’d help me.”

His thumb rubs my finger, leaving a strange feeling in its wake. My back stiffens and my face feels like it’s on fire. He’s leaning so close that I can see the black of his eyes, gazing into my soul. I nod. “I’ll tell ‘em. Please lead us to safety.”

“I will. Now go spread how good our acquisition of the north has been doing.” He gives my body a push the door. 

I dart out of the flaps, towards my dad. I feel like I’m going to throw up, I feel strange. I want my hands to be held again. I want to feel warm flesh against my own. I want to be around Baker. “T-They’re takin’ the North!” I cried out as I pushed into the mess grounds. Soldiers gaze over at me, in confusion. “T, They,” I try to think of a good lie, for Baker, “They’re pushin’ into the North. To Penil-Land!”

“Penil-Land? What da hell yer kid talkin’ ‘bout, Regi?”

“Hell if I know.” Dad glowers at me for being such a spectacle. “Calm down, boy.” He takes my hand. His hand doesn’t feel as good as Baker’s did but I don’t respect dad as much as Baker. “Penil-Land? North? Pennsylvania?”

“Yeah, that!” I nod excitedly. “We’re takin’ em! We gonna follow others into the North!”

“We’re finally winnin’ the war! You ‘ear that!”

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

“They forgot, they fightin’ real men!” 

Shouts start to follow, the men’s voices rising in a hurry. The rumor spreads from there and I could only stand back and listen as people talk about how brave Confederates went up north, burned Washington to the ground and were continuing up into Canada. Morale was up and people were thinking we could really do anything. I almost thought they could but I knew the truth. We were going to be the first batch heading up north; we were clearing the way for the real soldiers.

Helping my mother collect camp, I carried every item we owned on my back, following behind the lines of troops. There were comments about how quiet I was during this happy occasion but I couldn’t even crack a smile as I waited with sharp ears for the first shot. We were going into enemy territory and I feared for the life of my parents, myself, and Baker. The smiles he kept sending my way barely stifled the truth. I couldn’t just grab my dad’s hand and tell him we needed to run, he wouldn’t listen to me now.

He told me not to talk with Baker. I can’t let him know I did only minutes after being ordered not to. Maybe this is why he said not to? He knew the man was full of lies. 

“What are they saying?” Baker asked one day while riding beside me. I kept my eyes forward, watching the troops through miles of foliage. We had met up with other soldiers who had been told the same lies. Our dwindling numbers were a thing of the past, really adding to the delusion that we could win this war. 

“How yer leadin’ us into greatness. You promise this would be safe.”

“And it has. No attacks yet, they’re still heading into Richmond, we’re going around them.” Baker’s eyes remained on his troops. “I’m keeping my end of the bargain, are you keeping yours?”

“I haven’ spoke to no one ‘bout the Penil-Land lie.” Baker chuckles and I know it’s at my expense but he has such a nice laugh. “L, Lieutenant Baker…”

“Yes, Grey?” Baker’s eyes gleam in delight.

“C, Can you teach me to read?” There, I asked. 

Baker raises a thick brow. “Why would you ever want to learn how to read?”

I play with my fingers. Really, it means I can spend more time with him but it also means I can become like him. “You read a lot. I wanna be smart too.”

Baker’s horse rears back, wanting to turn. As Baker tries to get her back on track, I take the long rein between my fingers, bringing the horse back on track, following the troops. A silence falls between us until I feel Baker’s big hand drop on my head, petting me. That feeling comes back, rolling in my belly. “Oh, Grey.” He chuckles. “Trust me, you don’t want to learn to read.”

“No, I really do!” I jump a bit.

His fingers move to my face. He’s bent down low on the horse, staring into my eyes. We stop in the middle of the forest, the soldiers moving on ahead. “Reading hurts your head and makes you old like me.” He smiles. “You just be the way you are now and don’t worry about those books. Just come to me if you want something read.”

My eyes are wide. That means I can see him more… “Can you read me your book?”

“In the future, yes.” He smiles. “Now, I must be off. Remember, Grey: tell no one and I’ll read you my book.” He closes a brown eye. I nod excitedly, watching him ride off to the front of the troops, keeping them in line. I feel a little heartbroken that he won’t teach me to read but I guess he just doesn’t have time. 

True to his word, the next few days do go well. I’m starting to believe we can actually do this because there’s been no skirmishes along the path. This good luck ended one morning just outside Virginia. We were sitting for some breakfast when a rain of fire came upon us. Shouting follows, people scrambling to get their guns while camp dwellers scrambled to gather their things and get out of the line of fire.

Arm full of clothes, I pushed my mom along the tree line, trying to keep us out of sight. I felt defenseless, having let someone else take my only gun as we scrambled to safety. “Where’s daddy?” Mom looked around the battle field, shock written over her face. Bodies were already littering the ground, the faded grass taking up a black hue. “Grey! Find your daddy!”

“Get out of here!” I pushed on mom, trying to get her to continue as my body turns to run back on the field. A soldier falls feet from me, his hand slumping to his side in death. I almost puke, realizing his face is half gone. Keep going! I slip into his body, my hand on his gun. I don’t move as the shooting starts to pick up around me, fires on both sides. My brain is telling me to run but I can’t find the willpower to move. If I stay still, I tell myself, I’ll stay alive to meet up with mom and dad and we’ll go back to Georgia. We’ll just work back on the Master’s plantation (if it’s still there) until we can buy our freedom.

Strange accents from the West make me stiffen. “They’re moving to the south!”

“Barnett’s up the river, he’ll catch them.”

No! That’s where mom went! I try not to tense as I hear foot falls nearby. It gets louder and louder until a familiar smell of a horse gets my attention. Baker! I look up only to find my heart stop. That’s not Baker – that’s a Union Soldier. The man tilts his head back, his rugged face reminding me of a murder. My murderer. In his hand is a pistol, aimed directly at my head.

“Gimme that gun, boy.” 

I raise my hand and the gun, letting him take it from me. Someone else steps towards this towering lumberjack, asking for orders.

“Take him to the stocks.” The officer growls lowly before flicking his tongue to lead the horse forward. Still on the ground, I glare at the man holding shackles. If they think I’m going to make this easy…

I nearly break my arm fighting to keep my arms from being locked together. The reminder that he had a gun and I didn’t put me in my place as we made our ways through the warn battle site. My eyes follow over the dead comrades, stopping on my father’s prone, lifeless body out for the elements. His eyes, still wide from surprise, are glazed over. He was probably the first to die. I pull back, falling neatly at his side.

The union soldier grabs at my arm, trying to pull me back on my feet, but I feel so heavy. I can’t breathe. “Out father, who art in Heaven…” my voice is shaky. I’m so scared. Do the Union officers bury their troops the way we do, or do they leave them for the elements? We just wanted our land back, this isn’t fair!

“Get to your feet, boy!” I’m ripped up, dragged away from my father’s remains as black men take his form, carrying him over to where they’re digging up land. The Union Camp is nowhere near where we had been stationed; it feels like I have to walk forever before I’m pushed with other Confederate soldiers in a makeshift jail. I’m scared. Where’s my mother? Did she make it out all right? 

Another Union Officer walks around us, looking toward each individual. His uniform is clean cut, his colonel tags shining on his collar. His eyes glance over all of us. “This all?”

“A few wounded; doubt they’ll make it.” An enlisted guy shackles me to another person. “God, they get younger and younger, don’t they?”

“Our troops aren’t any better, O’Riley.” The officer doesn’t glance up from his papers. “Give me your name, rank, and state as I approach you.” He starts furthest from the bunch. It feels like forever until he stops on me, his green eyes gazing deep into my soul. We watch each other until he demands again. “Name, rank, and state.” The other Union Soldier pushes me, ordering me to speak up.

“…G, Grey Crawford...” I’m visibly shaking. He raises his pen, waiting for me to continue but it’s all I offer. He won’t send me back home and I’m no soldier. He needs no more information. When nothing bad happens, I find ground to continue. “The _Crawford’s_.”

He smirks. “Is that ‘spose to make me scared?”

Yes. “You wanted to know who I am,” arrogance laces my voice. “They’ll be comin’ from miles to kill you monsters – o, on my orders!” 

“Well,” The officer smirks, “If you’re of such power, _Mista_ Crawford, then you’ll find yourself right at home at our wonderful establishment. Why, you’ll be settled in the finest of quarters by yours truly.” He shakes his head, the grin never leaving his face. “Lock them in the stocks. I’ll assign jobs in an hour. If they run, shoot to kill.” From his belt, he pulls out a carving knife, pressing it under my chin. I lock eyes on him. “And keep me notified on this one.” He patted my cheek. The knife went away and he left, disappearing into the fields of Union Soldiers.

All I could think was: who was that and why is he picking on _me_.


	2. Chapter 2

The Mistress first noticed me when I was four, playing with her children in the great expanse of the plantation after helping my dad carry sugarcane out to the stock. Her then-current house boy, a young black man with a penchant for mischief, had become sick and the doctors couldn’t do anything to help him, leaving her in need of a new current one, fast. She was adamant about getting one early in their life, to train the person to anticipate her every need. The problem she faced was that the person would be a reflection of herself and she deemed all the little black boys from their more favored house servants as unacceptable. 

And then she saw me.

My parents weren’t treated any different just because I was the Mistress’ new houseboy but I was treated differently. I no longer had to help dad in the fields. I was cleaned up with scented water and my hair was neatly trimmed. Every year, I received a nice house coat that could fit my ever growing body and I was given an extra helping of dinner from the main house. 

Even this far into the war, I could still fit the bill for a better-off man. I might have been dressed in clothes that had seen better days and had lost a good bit of weight but I had all my teeth and my hair was more managed. I didn’t know the meaning of manual labor, in all realities. The Mistress had never made me do heavy lifting. I was to follow her around and make her happy, and I did until the war broke out.

The first day of capture was tame in comparison to the second. We had been given something to eat and those with ranks had their rank removed before their men. We were put into the shackles for the night and then woken before even the birds to start digging graves while the black men who originally had been assigned the task were given the Lord’s Day of Rest. Most of the men I was chained to had come from trade work and could throw their weight. Ripping with muscle, each one of them could dig for hours with a building sweat.

I barely lasted the first hour.

Shovel pushed into the ground, I stomped twice on the twisted metal just to break the second layer of soil. My hole had barely even taken shape as the others started deeper into the earth. 

“You’re slowing the men down, _Mista_ Crawford!” The Colonel’s voice echoed across the yard. I rolled my eyes, becoming used to his jeers. “Get him his own irons, O’Riley!” 

I was unhooked from the other men, who moved on to the next group of graves. Left with my tiny hole, I kept digging, ignoring the comments directed towards me about how slow I worked. Word had spread about my supposed standing in society, with speculation to my grand upbringing. Even the men I’d once been shackled with didn’t offer any symphony. They joined the ribbing last night, asking me about this house I was from.

Luckily none of them were from Lieutenant Baker’s battalion or my jest would have been over the minute I claimed landownership.

“Work faster _Mista_ Crawford!” The Colonel chided. “If this hole isn’t dug up by breakfast, you’re not eating!”

I glared at him. “Sod off, Yank!” I speared the ground around my hole, throwing a small pile of dirt over my shoulder. “Some Yank you are, ain’t got nothing better to do but bother a worker.” I speared the ground again, slamming my word boot into the metal once more. It hit soft clay, making a squishing noise under my feet. “Don’t want your pig shit, no way.” The last part was said low as I licked my lips, collecting the sweat from them. 

The colonel’s lips parted as if to speak when a voice shouted over the compound, “Colonel Moore, sir!”

“O’Riley.” The Colonel nodded.

“Colonel Sanders wants to speak with you.”

The Colonel rubbed his head. “It’s not even morning yet, Jim.” His rough exterior broke for a fraction of a second and I glanced up just in time to see his tired blue eyes as he rubbed his big hand down his face. “Do you know how vital it is?”

“Said that if you had time to heckle the prisoners, you had time to see him _this fine Sunday morning_.” The man leaned forward, a grin on his face.

“I’m not heckling the prisoners.”

“Well, prisoner then.” The smaller man grinned at me, tipping his hat with a young smile. I grinned back at him, showing him all my teeth. “Nick also wanted to know if you’ll be joining us for prayer after breakfast.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Watch _Mista_ Crawford for me, will you, Jim? He’s not to eat until I have at least two graves dug.” I glared at the colonel, slamming my shovel into the ground with more force than intended. The metal nicked my shackles but didn’t break the iron in half. Colonel Moore gave me a smug grin before walking back into camp with an extra hop to his step. O’Riley watched his Colonel leave to before releasing a low whistle and a shake to his head. 

“Haven’t seen Matt so interested in a person, ever.” Jim placed a hand on his head. “You really crawled under his skin.”

I glowered at the man. “I don’t see why,” I hissed, “I didn’t do anything to him.”

“Not intentionally, no.” O’Riley gave a side glance to the other prisoners, hard at work on their gravesites. “The Colonel really riled up the troops in New York by his stance on slavery. He doesn’t exactly care that you’re with the traitors. It annoys him that you had slaves.”

 

I pushed in the dirt, glaring at the offending ground. “I don’t have _slaves_.” If I did, I wouldn’t be serving the Master. Hell, they wouldn’t be better than my family by the end of the night. I glance up towards the far end of camp, segregated off from the rest of camp, where the black troops and camp followers are starting to wake. One of them is dousing the warm fire that had been lit all night, with only a sharp glance towards me. 

O’Riley raises a dark brow but doesn’t really inquire further. He does, however, turn to face one of the other prisoners who had leaned against his shovel in the morning sun, catching his breath. “Keep working! No one eats until these graves are dug up!” He moves over, rounding off into a verbal argument over distribution of work. I continue working on my hole, finally getting it as wide and deep as the others by the time morning prayers start.

Appropriately, we’re brought over to the western tent, kept together with shackles. My own private ones drag my feet together but my step is not as stretched as the other, the chains heavier than necessary. If I tried to run, anyway, I’d be shot in seconds and I’m not in the least tempted to see a bullet so early in the morning. We’re forced to stand in the back, heads lowered during prayer but my eyes wander through the crowds for familiar faces.

Colonel Moore isn’t in there, which makes me relax all the more as I ask the Lord to watch my father, who joins him in heaven. I ponder the whereabouts of my mother for a passing second before Lieutenant Baker’s current condition comes to me. I wonder if it made it out of the attack in one piece. I say a small prayer for the man, ignoring the burn in my eyes. One of the prisoners touch my shoulder, a look of understanding across his face.

“He is watching all our friends.”

I smile. “You’re right.”

When church lets out, we’re led back to the stocks where water is given with some hard bread. Taking cue from the other prisoners, I dip my bread into the water to soften it while watching soldiers be buried in the holes we had dug up. Around noon, things have quieted again across camp as men go about their days, meeting up with friends and families that had followed camp. The prisoners around me are talking solemnly about their homes and remaining family. One or two even try to lighten the mood with talk about what things are going to be like where the war is over. 

There’s an unspoken agreement about who’s going to come out on top in all this, even if we wish it wasn’t so.

Colonel Moore makes his rounds when the sun’s at the highest. His eyes meet mine across the compound but I look away before he could even think of coming over and talking. 

But he does come around eventually, stepping up to the stocks with a raised brow and his hands on his hips, pushing up his coat a little. “I heard you got food.”

“I dug _your_ grave.” I give the man a smirk, hoping he’ll hear my play on words. Some black soldier had been dumped into my grave, which was an insult for all my hard work but I doubt anyone cares too much what I think. The only weapon I have here is my sharp tongue, the one that had learned petty insults from my Mistress. 

“Jim!” 

O’Riley comes out from the woods, where the outhouses are. “Can’t a guy do his business without you?”

“I thought I said he was to dig two graves before he could eat.”

“He’d never eat then. He’s so damn slow.” O’Riley shook his head. “And did you see that grave he dug? Hector didn’t deserve to be buried in there. Maybe you can put him to work in the hospital or something until we can send them to the prison?”

I swallowed hard, scared about that. The prisons we kept Northerners were awful. I’d heard horror stories from my father about how the prisoners of war went in and never came out because conditions were worse than they were on the field. At least out here, we might stumble on some kind of animal. In there, you were lucky if they remembered to feed you by the end of the day. I just knew that Lieutenant Baker and my mom were still alive and they were waiting for me. I had to come back, safe and sound.

Blue eyes turned to me, and Colonel Moore’s jaw tensed. “What do you think, _Mista_ Crawford. How can you earn your keep here? What are you going to go to school for? Maybe we have a job to get you started.”

I want to be a lawyer like Lieutenant Baker but I didn’t think there was any jobs in camp that could get me started on even that dream. I grabbed the bars, not able to look at him anymore as my shoulders tensed.

“Tick tock, _Mista_ Crawford. We don’t have all day.”

“I can clean!” I cry out. “Just don’t send me to a prison!”

That dries up all the humor from the Colonel. O’Riley shoots his commanding officer a _look_ but I ignore it. Probably some mind-talk the Northerners have. “You’re going to have to go eventually, kid.” Colonel Moore’s voice becomes soft. Around me, the other prisoners have stopped talking, nervousness flooding over us. We all know what Confederate prisons are like, Northern ones can’t be any better. “If you’re lucky there will be a prisoner exchange with one of your branches but none of them are willing to open talks.”

I’m hunched into my shoulders now, my mouth dryer than it’s been all year. 

“Think of it this way: it’ll be a roof over your head,” Says O’Riley as if that makes this realization any easier to handle. I’d rather spend the rest of my life living off of stale bread and water then not knowing if I was going to survive the night. They’d probably force me to do more manual labor than digging graves with punishment worse than just being denied food.

I reach for Colonel Moore, trying to grab his arm. “I can clean! Please don’t send me to a prison camp!”

“You still need to earn your meal here, at least before we start worrying about your permanent placement.” Colonel Moore crosses his arms. “If _Mista_ Crawford,” the usual smile is a little more forced, trying to make light of the very tense situation, “Thinks he can earn his keep by cleaning, let’s hold him too it.”

I’m taken from the cages and brought to the medical tent where I’m instructed to clean the blood from surgical tools. I was left under the watchful care of the hack of a surgeon who looked tired and stressed rolled into a ball of paranoia. O’Riley introduced me simply as the Colonel’s Favorite which was shared with a hearty laugh that I didn’t think was too funny. 

The work makes my stomach flip but it beats being out in the hot sun digging holes for them to bury soldiers. When the tools are cleaned, I follow one of the women camp followers around the wounded soldiers, helping her clean their bandages while trying to hold the minimal stomach contents I have when I see some of the wounds.

There’s a couple of soldiers in southern uniforms, two of which were from my father’s infantry but I’m pushed away from them before I can get close enough to ask them what they saw on the field. I’m sent out to help the women wash linens later, hanging them out to dry in the warm sun. The women talk about their husbands, without even a glance towards him, while the some of the black women work off to the side, carrying water to the wounded.

Colonel Moore came back around supper, checking with the doctor and several of the women to make sure that I made their days easier before agreeing that I earned myself some dinner, which he personally brought over to me, mentioning that the prisoners had already had their meal an hour before. I try hard not to pay attention to the man who sits with me over by the bedding while I spooned up mouthfuls of stew ravenously. It wasn’t the best food but I hadn’t eaten an actual meal in two days. The water was a little on the brown side, leaving a dirty aftertaste but I still swallowed the cup’s contents.

While I eat, Colonel Moore pulls a book from his large jacket pockets along with a pair of wired framed glasses to put on his face. It’s not thick but it’s worn and aged around the corners. It’s hard not to look up at the pages and inquire about it. I want to settle in close and look at the pages but I keep my distance, hunched into my food. He flips pages periodically throughout the meal, barely glancing up from his readings.

With the meal gone, I’m left with nothing to occupy myself except him, who’s took deep into his book to even notice my wavering attention. I glance from the book to his face, then back again before looking at the camp grounds that has lured into a familiar step of the day.

“You don’t haveta sit wit’ me. I’m not gonna go nowhere.” I finally say after some time.

The Colonel sets his book on his hip, tilting his head to the side. “Who said I was sitting with you? I happen to always sit on this side of camp.”

I give him my best annoyed look. “So what are you readin’?”

“You might be a little young to remember James Fenimore Cooper’s work but I’m partial to some of his earlier writings about the American Democracy and our expansion towards the west. Part of his trilogy with Satanstoe and The Redskins. Not as controversial as his later works but in its own right, it makes you think of the real corruption in man.” The Colonel flipped through the pages absently.

I nod my head, pretending to understand what he’s talking about.

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

“Did I earn dinner?” I smirked back.

“Might just keep ya, kid. Doc’s never been so happy.”

Wrapping my arms round my knees, I laid my head down. Absently, my fingers played with the cuffs on the shackles. “We didn’ own slaves, y’know.”

“Hm?”

“The guy – O’Riley? Jim? – He said you hated me ‘cause you thought we owned slaves. We don’t.”

Colonel Moore tucked his book into his pocket. “I’ve come to realize that.”

“What?”

He smiled secretively. “Nothing. All right then, kid.”

“And stop callin’ me _Mista_.” I grumble. “And don’t call me _kid_. I got a name.”

“Right. _Grey_ ”

I glared. “Wha’s wrong with my name, Yank?”

“It’s Matthew Moore.” The Colonel grins. 

Turning away, I put my nose in the air. “Who cares?”

Throwing his head back, Colonel _Matthew_ Moore breaks into a deep laugh. “I like you, kid! Just remember, you’re no longer on your turf.” He ruffled my hair and I pushed his arm away, glaring towards the woods. “If you don’t mind me asking though, why fight if you knew there was a possibility you could end up in a prison?”

“Wasn’t gonna.” I crossed my arms.

“Wasn’t going to what, fight?”

My glare switched to him. “Was gonna fight eventually, when dad couldn’t. Wasn’t plannin’ on gettin’ caught by Yanks.”

“No one plans it but there’s always a possibility.”

“You’re fighting.” I argue back.

“It’s just another thing to write about if I end up in a prison.” Matthew settles back into the grass, his arms folded behind his head. He must have seen my questioning look because he grins towards me from the ground. “It’s hard to believe but I bet in fifty years people are gonna be talking about this and I want tell people what it’s really like out here. I send in articles from the front line to my old paper every other month, keep them posted what’s going on out here. They edit it a bit, of course – for morale reasons – but dad always keep the originals at home. Going to publish them one day after this war is over, so people know the truth.”

My neck is craned back, taking in the Colonel with curiosity that I haven’t possessed until that moment. “Why would people be talkin’ about this?”

Matthew grinned. “This war is bigger than we think. It doesn’t matter how it turns out, North, South. Something’s going to give and people are going to talk about it. Everyone has an opinion of it now. What will they say about it in the future?”

“I don’t think they’ll talk about it.” I looked at the camp again.

“Why not?”

I chew on the insides of my lip. “Because they’ll have better things to talk about,” I say with some conviction. It’s not the truth though. I don’t think people will be talking about it because it’ll have to be written about and only select people will be able to read about it, even from Matthew’s own words.

Matthew makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “I think we’ll just have to agree to disagree about it. If it’s written down, someone will talk about it.” He held up his book, waving it around. “If it was up to public criticism once, it’ll remain true in the people’s minds forever. You can’t erase what is written.”

“But you can burn those words,” I grin. “Bet your book would roast nicely.”

A playful gasp leaves the Colonel’s mouth as he pulls the book away, as if I were going to take it from him. “Blasphemy! What kind of heretic are you?”

“A Crawford one.”

“Whatever you say, _Mista_ Crawford.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Matthew only rolls away laughing. He climbs to his feet when he gets better control of his breathing, tucking his book into his jacket again. His glasses come off second, being tucked into his breast pocket. “Well, it’s time to get your bowl washed.”

“Where do I take it when I’m done?”

“Give it to me when it’s washed. I’ll have Jim take you to the creek to get that clean.” Matthew offers his hand to help me off the ground. I reluctantly take the proffered aid, pulling to my feet and letting him go as if burnt. A familiar silence falls between us as he leads me back to camp.

When he leaves me with O’Riley, I can’t find my voice to ask if he’ll be joining me for a meal tomorrow.


End file.
